The sun beat down on the train car as it chugged along in the hopeless heat. Charles Baker Harris licked his dry, chapped lips and took a hesitant and slow breath, sucking the oxygen deep into his lungs. He sputtered despite his caution, the dust was all too much in this sweltering heat. The sun's direct rays seemed to single him out, a perfect box of light made from the shadows of the train car window and beating down into him. It was almost a quizzical sort of light. A demanding sort of light. As if the sun itself was interrogating him. As if the rays themselves were asking him to explain his intent.
Mind you, it was not ill-intent. He really hadn't intended this at all. In his 20 years he'd courted many a fine young bachelorette. There was Missy Hill, when he was 16. She was buxom. That was the word his mother had used, anyway. She was full figured and had a fat face and her hair was a greenish sort of blinde. But she loved to go for ice cream and she had this sort of giggling laugh that somehow got him to fancy her, so he took her out a few nights a week until she got to callin' him her beau and it made him squeamish so that was that. Then there was Cindy Lophart from the next town over who everyone was assuming was a lesbian. She was about a foot taller and a stone heavier than Charles, but she had a pretty enough face and really soft hands. She was really good at the clarinet and played in the orchestra band for her high school, so Charles took her out to see a show and then for a Root Beer and then she got to callin' him her beau and he got squeamish and that was that.
No girl really ever lived up to the expectation that Charles Baker Harris had laid out for himself. He wanted a girl who wasn't too pretty, but could still knock him on his backside with a sideways glance. He wanted a girl who would try her hardest when they would compete and a girl who wouldn't care if she had mud on her face. He wanted someone who was stubborn and hard headed but who would also be gentle in her own way. He wanted a girl to share the paper with, and one who wasn't so thick headed so he could discuss the politics with her and formulate opinions. But Charles wasn't picky, of course.
Now, he wasn't really sure what made him board that train. His buddy Rick had said it was Serendipity. Or some crack like that. Rick had a chipped tooth and probably a skull to match, so you couldn't take anything that paddywhack said with a grain of salt. But nonetheless a force bigger than himself had walked Charles Baker Harris right up and onto that train. A train headed straight for Maycomb.
About 2 more hours of stewing in the heat and Charles Baker Harris stepped off the train. Now, he'd done some thinking and it kind of dawned on him why he'd boarded it in the sirst place. Maybe all the thought of Missy and Cindy and all them girls had knocked a bit of sense into his brain. Maybe the hunger and the heatstroke were getting to him. Or maybe Rick was right and that Serendipity stuff wasn't really just a load'a. But see, there was a girl in Maycomb when he'd left, and this girl was the only girl that got him. And he knew, deep down, he loved her.
The only problem was that Charles Baker Harris hadn't seen Jean Louise Finch since he was eight years old, and any right boy would know that 10 or more years of separation would wear a relationship down. Hell, Charles hadn't the foggiest if Jean Louise was still in Maycomb. If Jean Louise was married, shacked up with a couple'a young'uns and her own porch to swing on. If Jean Louise would still love him back, given the time and all.
But, Charles Baker Harris also knew that Jean Louise Finch, aged seven, had agreed to marry him during their second summer together in Maycomb. And despite the time lapse, that ought to count for something. Because no matter what, no matter when, he was still Dill, and she was still Scout, and no force on earth could change that.
So, Dill swallowed his worries and walked out of the station.
A/N: I started this story 6 years ago when I was 14. I look back now, at the end of year 20, with a novel and a half under my belt and I'm so proud of how far I've come artistically (and gramatically!) Yet here I am, 6 years later, still enthralled by the Song of Dill and Scout. So I guess, if I don't get caught up in life again, I'll write here when I can. Short chapters, of course (though not as short as when I started this, lordy!) after all- this story really helped with the whole writer's block phenomenon I've encountered recently.
To any of my old readers who are returning to this story, welcome back. Thanks for sticking around.
To any new readers, welcome to the club of TKAM lovers who simply can't get enough of this crazy wonderful world the late Harper Lee graced us with. I hope you enjoy your stay.
Until we write again, xx